APH The Fool's Gift
by DarkmoonSigel
Summary: England and America is two different time periods. First part is sweet and second part is bittersweet. America being the sweetheart we all know he can be. Yaoi. Don't like, don't read. First published on Deviant art. All mistakes are my own.


The Fool's Gift

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A long, long time ago…  
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America(he had yet to pick out a real name for himself but when he did it was going to be awesome) stared up at the most beautiful apple he had ever seen, possibly the most wonderful apple in the entire world. It was not too big, not too small, just the right 'get your jaw around it' size. It was deep scarlet, the taunt skin shiny and unblemished. If perfection was an apple, it would be this apple. Poems were written, grand oil paintings were commissioned, and songs were sung about fruit such as this…..not that America would know anything about things like that. America only knew that he just had to get that most ideal of fruit for England, his keeper. The English nation loved apples and the color red, so it was beyond perfect….at least in America's little head.

The only problem was that it was really high up.

America craned his neck to squint up at the fruit, trying to will it down. When that didn't work(and not from a lack of trying on his part) America considered his options. He could simply uproot the tree, but it was a perfectly good apple tree and probably had squirrels living in it or something plus England really didn't seem to like it when he did stuff like that.

The little nation toed at rocks looking for one big enough for his small hands as he considered knocking it down. His aim was pretty good but that ran the risk of damaging the apple, if not from the rock than the impact of the fall.

The only viable option left it seemed was to climb the tree. America nodded to himself on the brilliance of it. The tiny powerhouse of a nation found it was easiest to simply dig his fingers and toes into the tree itself for purchase leaving behind a little America path up the trunk in his quake(and confusing the hell of hunters for many years to come). Once he got into the branches, things got easier as well as much higher, the apple on one of the peak most flora appendages. Which is where England found him, balancing on tiptoe on twigs barely the width of his wrist, splayed out across air, his tiny fingers grazing the surface of his elusive prize.

England was in split views about the whole situation. On one side, he was very proud that his colony knew how to climb trees without any prompting from him or training. It was an invaluable skill that had served England well time and time again in his hazardous youth. The other side of the matter though was currently yelling "Oh my fucking God! Why is my baby that high up in a tree!?". The latter of the two notions won out in the end.

"America! What the bloody hell do you think you are doing!?", England yelled, who realized belated that he really shouldn't have yelled his mistimed question. Upon hearing his keeper's irate voice upon mid snatch for the apple, America jumped in surprise, losing his precarious footing. Falling forward, he snagged firmly onto the apple, tucking it against his body as he plummeted. England watched in horror as the little nation fell out of the tree to hit the ground with a roll.

"Please be alright, please be alright, please be alright, I know I am complete shite at all this but please be alright.", England chanted to himself, running over to the still babe, "Love…speak to me!" England kneeled down beside him, gently turned the little nation over to be presented quite suddenly with an undamaged piece of fruit.

"I got you apple.", Alfred said rather woozily, presenting the gift with a lopsided grin. England stared down at it speechless, fully grasping now why his colony was up in a tree of all places. It was such a simple thing, so simple and yet so kind. No one had ever done that for him before.

"You git!", England rasped out, a few tears escaping as he scooped the little nation up to hold him close in his lap, checking the little colony out thoroughly for any sort of injury. America appeared to only have a few scrapes and bruises thankfully, nations built tougher than the humans they imitated. If anything, America actually seemed more concerned for England who was still crying over him.

"You don't have to share it with me. It's all for you.", America explained patiently, using the hem of his dressing gown to dry England's cheeks. He still had the apple in hand, presenting it once again to his keeper who took it with gingerly with shaking hands.

"Why would you do something so foolish?", England asked, trying to work himself up enough into giving America a stern lecture but was failing miserably in the face of wide blue eyes and a sweet smile. America seemed to brighten up even further in light of the question for some strange reason.

"Because silly. I love you.", America laughed, as if it was the most obvious thing the world.

The little colony could not understand why his keeper started to cry again. Confused and not knowing what else to do, America held onto him until he stopped.

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World War II

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Arthur was trapped in no man's land on the battlefield, Germany's forced shooting at him constantly, pinning him down. His diminishing cover of a Jeep's skeleton was starting to become transparent from all the holes it was receiving. It was beginning to look like the old nation was going to be following its example soon enough. Arthur was running out of ammo with little hope of support to come and save him. He couldn't die, but bullets still hurt like hell and when the soldiers figured out what or who he was, the English nation knew he could look forward to imprisonment in the best case scenario. He really didn't want to consider alternatives at the moment. Warring nations weren't exactly known for their merciful or patient natures.

The roar of an engine cut through the din of gunfire as a fast vehicle entered the field. Arthur peeked out from behind his cover to see the fool who had entered this shooting gallery.

"Yeehaw!", Alfred yelled from his bike, steering the noisy machine with one hand as he held a piece of tank siding as easily as if it were as paper with the other.

Aw yes…..of course…..that fool. From the looks of it, the idiot had torn the side off of some poor sod's tank. Arthur rubbed his face tiredly, hoping that the American had had the practicality to do it to someone's else war machine and not one of their own at least. Alfred was currently bee lining toward the swiss cheesed Jeep, coming to a skidding halt a few feet away from the hiding nation.

"Move your ass, Iggy! The hero has arrived!", Alfred laughed, despite being shot at, despite being in the middle of a battlefield in one of the worst wars anyone had ever seen. Despite everything, he still laughed. It blew Arthur's mind sometime.

But…..beggars can't be choosers. Arthur ran to the bike, scrambling onto it to lock his arms around the American's muscular waist(not that he was noticing or anything). His breath was knocked out of him as the makeshift shield was slammed against his back, Arthur effectively sandwiched between it and Alfred.

"What are you doing?!", Arthur tried yelling over the gunning motor, shoving ineffectually at both barriers.

"Hold on! It's gonna be a bumpy ride!", Alfred called back, taking off at full speed. The pair serpentined across the pockmarked field, the American's skill becoming more and more obvious as they avoided incoming random shell fire. He still wasn't faster that bullets though. Arthur could hear the metal projectiles ricocheted off of the tank siding. Even worse though, he could feel the American's body jerk every time he was hit, blood seeping soon enough through his bomber jacket. Alfred held steady under the assault of steel, powder, and fire though, steering them through ruin, dogging obstacles this way and that, weaving through fallen friend and foe alike with unmatched skill until they exited the lines of engagement.

As soon as the pair passed the stained flags of their countries that signaled their dominance over recaptured land, Alfred dropped, barely managing to stop the bike safely. The borrowed shield slid off to the side thankfully from his grasp. Arthur knew he would have never been able to move it. He managed to catch Alfred before he hit the ground, lowering him more gently to it.

As soon as his hands were free, Arthur started to strip Alfred down, applying pressure here and there, digging out bullets with his knife as he went over expanses of tanned skin before the flesh sealed over the slugs completely. Nations healed fast naturally. Alfred was becoming a superpower though, so his wound tended to seal themselves almost instantly, which was bad in the case of bullets and shrapnel.

"Tell me where it hurts love.", England said softly, trying to work as quickly as possible. It was not an easy task though. Alfred was full of metal.

"How come you only call me that when I'm injured?", Alfred murmured, his normally buoyant voice strained and pain filled. Arthur bit his lip, but kept his hands moving. This was no time for useless sentiment.

"You always do the most reckless things, you daft idiot!", Arthur snapped, wiping away blood as he searched ruined flesh for more shrapnel.

"All for you.", Alfred managed out with a shrug, spitting out blood and pieces of metal. Some of the bullets had caught him in the lungs. He grimaced at the odd metallic taste it left in his mouth. Breathing was going to really suck for while.

"Rubbish. Why do you insist on being so completely stupid?", Arthur glared, refusing to look at the American who was staring holes into his head. The English nation was forced to stop his administration as Alfred leaned up to weakly cup one of his pale cheeks with a large callused hand, stained with dirt and drying blood.

"Because…..I love you." Alfred said quietly, his voice deep with sincerity. He pressed a kiss to quivering lips as he watched emerald eyes fill with hot tears that ran down in silver paths.

This time, he understood why Arthur cried, holding him until he stopped


End file.
